Idle Obsession
by SynektDotke
Summary: Drawn back to Derry by the death of her father, Beverly embarks on a turn of events that lead her right back into the jaws of her childhood nightmare. Pennywise/Beverly, Sorry I suck at summaries so yeah...


**A/N:** I haven't posted online in a while so I'm a little rusty. I'm trying to get back into the craft since the movie It Chapter 2 inspired me recently.

Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

_IDLE OBSESSION_

She did it. She finally did it. She got out of Derry, and with her sanity intact. That was mostly due to her moving in with her aunt near the edge of town during her father's impromptu stay in the hospital, following the incident in the bathroom. She'd lived with her aunt for three months and, once her father healed, she was allowed to stay and finish out her high school career.

With the move came a peace of mind that allowed her to finally blossom confidently into the person she was meant to be, without all the fear and insecurity her father and old apartment seemed to foster. She'd also made friends over the summer, incredible friends, and that bolstered her self-esteem immensely. Finally able to focus on hobbies and interests instead of abuse and chores, the girl made it her mission to enter just about every contest pertaining to fashion and design she could find, and she'd won a great many of them, too, throughout the next four years. She earned the attention on a certain industry mogul by the name of Marilyn Dean, and was offered an internship immediately following her high school graduation.

That graduation ceremony was bittersweet. She was proud of herself and her friends, especially since she-along with Bill and Ben-had graduated with honors, but she was sad to be leaving them behind in her journey for New York. She spent one last week with them and had cherished every moment, from swimming down at the quarry with the boys to her one-on-one time with every single one of them. That had been important to her; she'd wanted to have her last memory with all of her friends be an intimate reminder of just why they meant so much to her. She and Bill rode Silver to the cafe and talked for hours about a few books he planned on working on, and she rode in Richie's Trans-Am to the movies for some mindless entertainment. Eddie and Stan both chose to host her near their apartment, since the two of them had moved into a two-bedroom together during their last year of school. The two were remarkably compatible and were both fueled by the same desire to leave their cloistering home life and gain a space of their own. She went all the way to the Hanlon farm to say goodbye to Mike and Ben had taken her out to eat, spending by far the most money and attention on her, though she had a feeling as to why. Still, she left things unresolved between them, promising to keep in touch once he left Derry for an architecture gig as well. And that was that, after that she packed up her bags and caught the first train out of Derry.

She'd been on the fast track ever since.

So well she'd done at Marilyn Dean that she was granted a permanent position. She worked there for years and gained one promotion after the other, opening the door for her to gain access to bigger name clients and the world they were apart of. Attending galas, charity balls, fashion shows, and other events became routine for the redhead and soon her she'd made a name for herself as a prodigious young designer. Perhaps that was why she'd caught the eye of Tom Rogan.

She wished she hadn't.

Not at first, of course. At first the 23-year-old had been honored to have been asked to leave Marilyn Dean and come work for his company, even more so when he'd showered her with what she'd thought was genuine praise and affection. Their relationship quickly evolved from professional to personal and, after months of being seen with her on his arm, he asked her to marry him.

Him.

A successful, handsome older man who had to have seen far more beautiful and talented women in his lifetime had chosen to be with _her; _it was almost too good to believe, but Beverly Marsh accepted and became Mrs. Thomas Rogan.

And then it all started to fade.

Perhaps it was destined for her to fall out of the spotlight; no one, no matter how talented, stayed in the limelight forever. Once the work began slowing up, Tom's attitude towards her began to change. By then he'd integrated her into his company in such a way that most of her earnings went straight to him, so once his veritable cash cow was losing its charm, the nice facade began to diminish bit by bit. First it seemed like every little thing she said or did got on Tom's last nerve, and then he began to make his aggravation with her clearly known in the form of biting remarks and jokes at her expense, especially in front of others. He would spend all day belittling her and tearing her down, then in private he'd really let loose and constantly bark at her. Things that used to be voluntary became mandatory-like household tasks and chores-and speaking of chores, that's what their 'love life' became. She was pressured to perform better in bed and better at work, and was constantly failing at both endeavors. Nothing she ever did was good enough and that was when the hitting began.

She still remembered the night he slapped her.

She'd snapped from the stress she'd been under and then Tom had gone quiet. That was the calm before the storm, it was a telling sign she'd seen in her father. When he hit her he did so swiftly and with the back of his hand, jarring her back to her childhood mentality.

Things had changed then and not for the better.

Still, Beverly had tried to endure for the sake of her marriage and her career, since she feared the two would go hand in hand seeing as how she was married to her employer. Despite her best efforts of holding it together in public at Red Carpet events and such, she began to deteriorate from within. Her spirit was beaten down daily, and her body bore the marks of physical assault. When she found out Tom was cheating on her that was the final straw.

She'd summoned the last of her backbone and, after nearly four years, she filed for a divorce.

Of course her reputation had taken a fall.

Tom had wasted no time angling the divorce as something he'd initiated, and he'd slandered her name throughout the entire proceedings. He'd claimed that _she _was the unfaithful one and had gotten some of his scumbag associates to corroborate tales of infidelity that simply never took place. Beverly had very little fight left in her at that point so she allowed the abuse to continue, just wanting it all to be over.

After two months, it was.

And thus she officially relinquished her dreams of a life doing what she loved. She'd been left homeless and nearly penniless following the separation. Were it not for her secret savings account-envelopes of cash jammed into her high school backpack-she would have been completely destitute. Although, in the months to come, she was quickly getting there.

Beverly had holed herself away in a hotel in Brooklyn and had fallen into a deep depression. She only ever left to wash her clothes at the laundromat down the street or, about once a month, to get some miscellaneous supplies like toilet paper and shampoo and toothpaste. She barely ever ate, and when she did she ordered delivery. Her health was poor on both the physical and mental fronts but she was finding it harder and harder to care, finding it easier and easier to slip away.

She was doing it now.

With her slender body smothered in the hotel's smooth white blankets and sheets, she stared blankly up at the chandelier on the ceiling. It hung low and glowed a dim orange, though the longer she stared at it the more the lights began to swell and resemble three large, spherical orbs, pulsing above her. From within her head she heard a rumbling, she could swear she felt her whole body vibrate in time with the rhythmic pulsing of the phantom noise as the orb lights began to spin and dance around each other. It was enough to put the young woman in a trance every single time, beginning sometime around her awful relationship with Tom.

This time was no exception.

Beverly's breathing slowed and her light blue eyes grew hazy. She felt calm, relaxed, numb-just what she wanted. No drug could get her here, to this coma-like state. Her long dark lashes swept down over her eyes once, twice, until they fell closed for good and her mind drifted back into the dreamless void she'd gotten used to.

* * *

Much too early Beverly's 'rest' was interrupted in the form of a steady vibration coming from the right of her head: her phone. Someone was calling her.

_No one calls me, _she frowned as she slowly blinked awake. She rolled over onto her right side and stared at the compact black device. According to the number on the lit-up screen, it was nearly eight in the morning and the number the person was calling from had an unknown area code.

_No, not unknown, _she realized as a coil of dread took form in her gut. That code wasn't unknown, just...forgotten...until just now.

Beverly became suddenly lucid.

Sitting upright, she brought her knees up to her chest and reached for the phone in shaking hands. The 27-year old felt an overwhelming, seemingly irrational fear as she slid her thumb across the green phone icon. She hadn't used her voice in a while-doing all her food ordering and payment online and keeping silent as she ran her few errands-so her voice was harshly hoarse as she spoke into the mic.

"H-hello?"

"Bev?" A woman asked gently. "Beverly Marsh? This is your Aunt Elenora."

Some of the dread Beverly had was lessened at the speaker's revelation; she adored her Aunt Elenora. However, behind her kind words was a tension that still had Beverly slightly on edge.

"Hi," Beverly smiled just the smallest bit. "I-It's been a while."

"Yes it has," Her aunt conceded.

"I should have kept in touch," Beverly said guiltily. "I'm sorry I haven't called in so long."

"Oh, sweetheart, that's okay," Aunt Elenora said softly. "I know how busy you've been being a big-time designer; I'm so proud of you!"

The praise felt hollow in light of all that'd recently happened.

_I'm pretty sure my days of designing for anyone are over at this point, _Beverly thought dismally. Still she thanked her aunt and smiled as if the woman could see.

"Beverly, I called because..." Her aunt hesitated. With difficulty she said, "There's really no easy or pleasant way to put this but...your father's had a stroke."

At the mention of her father Beverly's insides turned to ice, and then upon hearing he'd had a stroke she nearly had one herself.

"W-what?" Beverly whispered in alarm. "Is he okay?"

"No, my love, he's dead." Aunt Elenora whispered back. She was careful in the way she said, "I know you two...didn't...I know how things were between you, so I didn't want to tell you this right away. He's been dead for eight days now."

Beverly didn't know how to react to that.

Her aunt continued with, "I've handled all of his arrangements at the funeral home, and I'm going to have him buried next to our parents but...I just wanted to let you know, just in case you wanted to come down."

Beverly swallowed thickly.

"I'd understand if you didn't," Aunt Elenora went on. "But I knew I had to at least let you know, Bev."

"...I want to come."

"...Are you sure?"

Again Beverly responded non-verbally with a nod of her head, and her aunt misconstrued her silence as uncertainty.

"You know I wouldn't blame you for staying away," She assured the younger woman.

"It's okay," Beverly insisted. "I think I...need to be there. I should be there."

"Do you _want _to be?"

"Yes." Beverly's response was inaudible. "Yeah," She clarified. "I'll be there. When is the funeral?"

"At the end of the week, on Friday." Aunt Elenora replied.

"Okay," Beverly did some mental calculations before announcing, "I can get down there by tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay," Elenora responded. "And you know you're welcome to spend the week at my house. I'll clean out your old room for you."

"Yeah," Beverly murmured absently. "I'll...I'll let you know when I arrive."

"You do that, Bev. Love you."

"Love you, too." Beverly replied and the conversation was over.

Her reaction to it was not.

Beverly first felt overwhelmed to the point of being locked in place, left to stare unseeingly at the wall far ahead. She thought about her every encounter with her now-late father, from the time she was small and could barely walk to the time she was an adolescent, being abused by him over and over. Tears ran swift and silent down her left cheek as her expression remained blank.

_...He's dead..._

She almost couldn't believe it.

_Everybody's gotta die sometime, _she reasoned, but the reality wasn't resonating with her just yet. When she was thirteen, she bashed her father over the head with the lid of the commode and for a moment, seeing him lying there prone in a widening pool of his own blood, she'd thought him to be dead. She'd felt a concerning amount of relief for a fleeting second before the guilt had her fleeing the bathroom and then-

Something clenched her gut like a cold, iron fist.

More fear.

Intense fear.

But its cause was not quite known to her; it went beyond the prospect of being caught and prosecuted for her father's death. Something else had happened, something that she just couldn't recall.

She shivered.

_Alright, let's get this over with, _she resigned. The phrase, the attitude was one she'd constantly adopted throughout her young life. She was used to doing things she didn't want to do, used to just powering through them and this funeral would be no different. She had no delusions about it at all: there was no love lost between her and her father, but she was still going to go because it was time to put old demons to rest.

* * *

_ You never realize just how little you have until it's time to pack it away, _Beverly thought as she gazed over at her suitcase. Worn and black and fraying at the straps, the rolling thing was the object of interest as she rode on the train. It wasn't very big at all and yet within it was all that was left of her belongings and clothes. She left nearly everything with Tom and he'd made a point to sell or trash whatever was hers. Asking him for anything was not high on her list of objectives so she'd made due with what she'd managed to escape with.

Now she felt despondent as she thought about how her life had come full circle. She'd left Derry with little more than what was in her suitcase and here she was going back, with hardly anything at all to show for the years she'd been away.

Beverly adjusted the straps on her high school backpack and frowned at the implications of its significant lightness; she was running out of money. She had her dress clothes for the funeral in the pack but even they did not disguise the fact that the bands of cash were diminishing.

_ I'll have to get a job when I get back, _she knew. In a way, the funeral's timing was ideal; it provided a break from the monotonous rut she'd dug herself into and reminded her that her life would have to eventually get back on track before it was too late and she was completely broke with nowhere to go.

She removed her backpack and rubbed her face.

Beverly had a whole row to herself, and the row across from her was also unoccupied so she was free to set her suitcase under her seat and her backpack onto the table. She propped her feet up onto the suitcase and crossed her arms atop her backpack, then laid her head down on them. She wasn't really comfortable because the train seat was hard and her clothes-black denim jeans, thin cotton T-shirt, and thick black faux-leather jacket-were better suited to a night on the town instead of sleeping. Still, she was able to use her unique technique to get some rest; the rumbling of the train resembled the rumbling vibrations and the view of the train's dim interior lights reflected in the foggy window to her left morphed into those familiar orange orbs. She was out in a matter of seconds.

Being back in Derry was...strange. Very strange.

As soon as she arrived, Beverly spotted a familiar, tall, kind-eyed brunette waiting on a bench at the train station for her.

Aunt Elenora.

She was a blast from the past in her dotted white dress and braided dark hair. She looked every bit of the schoolteacher she was, even in her advanced years. Small lines creased the corners of her blue eyes and red mouth but in a good way, in a way that made her look friendly and beautiful. Though she shared some of her brother's features she was nothing like Alvin Marsh.

"Beverly!" Elenora had called, greeting her niece in a warm and lasting hug. Tanned arms felt like a soothing balm to the younger woman who hadn't known a loving touch in years.

It was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Beverly hadn't spoken much since then, opting to silently add her luggage to the clutter in the trunk of her aunt's old blue car. She sat in the passenger seat and gazed out of the window as the two rode through her old hometown.

_Nothing has changed, _Beverly noticed, but then again, why would it? It'd only been...what? Eight, nine years since she left? She still observed the town with the eyes of an adult, noticing how quaint and peaceful it seemed in comparison to New York.

_Why did I ever leave this place? _

Surely it wasn't just because of her father or the internship. She could feel it deep down; something had pushed her away, something sinister and dark. But that was incongruous with the docile environment she was seeing on her way back to her aunt's house. She couldn't imagine anything bad ever happening in a town where there were nice little shops and businesses and people smiled and waved as her aunt passed them by. The sun was shining and the grass was green and it was just a nice little town, right?

_Why do I feel so uneasy, _she wondered.

She could only assume it was because of the funeral. Maybe.

For the duration of the ride she remained lost in her thoughts, reviewing memories of her past, those that she could recall that is. None of them were pleasant and this much showed on her face in the form of a faint frown. Her aunt kept glancing over but made no attempt to pry at her thoughts.

They pulled up to an old white house with faded, lemon-yellow shutters and a small front lawn separated by a straight white concrete path. Bushes lined either side of the house's porch and the path led right up to the wooden front door. Aunt Elenora parked her blue car alongside the curb and killed the engine, finally addressing her niece.

"We're here," She said gently, and with a smile she sang, "Welcome home."

Beverly slowly came out of her head and looked up, then around. She quickly recognized her surroundings and gave a sad smile over at her aunt.

Elenora reached over to stroke the redhead's cheek and said, "I know the circumstances are far from ideal, but it's nice to have you back."

"Yeah," Beverly made another attempt at a smile for her aunt's sake.

They got out of the car and Beverly shouldered her backpack and hoisted her suitcase out of the trunk. She let her aunt lead the way into the house and rolled her suitcase up along the path tiredly. Her travels were catching up to her and she was looking forward to a midday nap.

"I know you're probably all tuckered out from your trip," Aunt Elenora remarked as she reached the door. "So I guess I'll get dinner started while you go and get some rest."

Beverly smiled wistfully as she got to the porch and saw the lovely blooming plants hanging in baskets from the ceiling. She also saw the long white swing she'd sit on with her friends and nostalgic tears pricked at her light eyes.

"Come on, in you go," Aunt Elenora opened the door and herded the young woman inside.

Beverly took her advice and headed from the front door past the living room and to the right, down a short hall where her old room was on the left. Right across from it was the bathroom, a room she stopped at to relieve herself following the car ride.

Beverly took a quick shower and then settled in. She was used to living out of her suitcase so she simply set it and her backpack down beside her old twin-sized bed and spent a few hours sleeping. By the time she woke up, there was dull blue light streaking in through the sheer pink curtains to the right of her bed. She could see it was evening and she could smell food, so she groggily sat up and rubbed at her eyes.

_Guess I'll go down and eat, _she figured.

In her cotton black shorts and white T-shirt Beverly walked from her room back out to the living room. She saw that the TV was on and a bland but watchable sitcom was playing. It filled the area with relaxing background noise. It made her feel at ease.

"Auntie?" She called.

"In here, my love." Her aunt called from the kitchen.

Beverly's heart fluttered almost painfully at being spoken to so nicely. It felt so good to be in an environment where she didn't have to walk on eggshells or be snapped at for her every mistake. Her aunt's house was the first place she could truly be herself so she was glad to see that hadn't changed at all.

Beverly walked into the kitchen and was met with a big smile by her aunt. She saw the taller woman stirring a medium-sized pot and smelled garlic bread in the oven. She went over to her aunt and peeked into the pot: shrimp fettuccine.

"Smells great," Beverly smiled enthusiastically.

"Did you get your beauty sleep?" Her aunt beamed.

Beverly said, "Yeah, something like that."

She began to set the table for two while her aunt fixed them both a plate of food, setting a garlic knot on each one next to the steaming hot pasta. Beverly took down two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with fresh cold water from a pitcher in the fridge, then they both sat down to eat.

Beverly had no appetite.

That hadn't changed in the time she left New York. That same depression was plaguing her and it made her aunt concerned. Elenora watched Beverly take a few bites at first before pushing her food around idly and brought attention to the behavior.

"Aren't you hungry, Bev?" She asked. "You look like you could use a good meal. You look a little thinner than usual."

Beverly looked up and said apologetically, "I haven't had much of an appetite, I'm sorry. Just...got a lot on my mind."

"Of course," Her aunt sympathized.

Beverly knew she'd lost some weight. It didn't bother her, though. She was much more perturbed by the nagging anxiety still blooming in her gut. She knew it wasn't just the funeral that had her unsettled.

* * *

Golden eyes.

Where had she seen them?

Besides in her dreams.

Beverly had dreamed last night. Perhaps being back home in Derry had a hand in that; either way, she'd had some vivid dreams.

They felt more like memories.

Like things she'd long forgotten.

Golden eyes with short black lashes. Those same eyes hued a bright blue turquoise. A rasping voice and large, gloved hands, a gloved hand around her neck. And fear. Abject, paralyzing fear.

Beverly had no idea what to do about these dreams and had no clue what they could mean, but it felt like they certainly meant _something_. She did her best to ignore them as she rose from her bed and focused instead on the comforting scent of breakfast.

Her appetite was..trying to come back.

Figuring she'd take advantage of that, Beverly stood from her bed and stretched her arms overhead. She didn't bother changing out of the T-shirt and shorts she'd slept in, nor did she consider combing her long, curly red hair. It was beyond unmanageable at this point, so running a comb or brush through it would only make things worse.

_ Gonna have to wash it today, _she knew, and when was the last time she'd done that? Not some fly-by scrubbing with a bit of soap, the actual 'lather-rinse-repeat' and the works?

_ Too long, _she thought. She was looking forward to the task, as well as some other much-needed self-care she'd likely indulge in now that she was home.

Dinner may have been a quiet affair, but breakfast was quite the opposite. Aunt Elenora was lively and cheerful, and she was happy to spend a good portion of the meal filling her niece in on the goings-on in her life and the lives of others around Derry.

Hearing these things brought a wistful smile to Beverly's pretty face, and it brought her spirit up as she tucked into the sumptuous spread before her. Her ceramic red plate was loaded to the edges with silver-dollar pancakes, lightly scrambled eggs, round little sausages, and a few slices of banana. She took occasional sips from her glass of juice until her plate was surprisingly clean for once. Fleetingly she glanced down at the dish and then her stomach dropped.

...It looked like...a red balloon...

_...And? So what? _She frowned, perplexed by her reaction. Why would a red balloon-or the thought of it-make her so anxious?

"Are you okay, Bev?" Aunt Elenora solicited.

"Hu-what?" Beverly blinked up over at her aunt and felt touched at the genuine concern adorning her aunt's tone and features. She assured, "Oh yeah, I'm alright."

"Have you been able to get in touch with any of your friends since you arrived?" Was her next question. Her aunt smiled and chuckled, "That Tozier boy was a real character."

"Yeah," Beverly's grin was fond and real. "I um, I haven't had a chance to catch up with anyone yet."

She hadn't reached out to any of her friends since leaving Derry.

"Oh, well you should try and track them down," Elenora suggested. "It might take your mind off...things. Being around friends."

Beverly nodded, but she had no intention of following up with the boys. She wasn't fit to be around any of them at the moment.

_I'm a complete wreck, I failed out of my career and I have no motivation for...anything, _She mulled over in silence. She didn't want to come around her friends and bring down their happiness with her sorry state of mind. No doubt they'd all moved on to bigger and better things in her absence.

* * *

Beverly hated funerals and her father's was no exception. The sight of his face, passive in death as he lay in his casket, sent her tumbling down the uncanny valley in terms of emotions. She also saw a scar on his head, a reminder of what she did to him that day she decided to stand up to herself. That day sent her life on a different, better path.

_How much better, really, if I ended up back here? _

The funeral was an ordeal for her, with her mood worsening by the moment. Her father had no friends and his family didn't like him. Few of them were in attendance, few people had come at all, with the bulk of them being local townspeople and fellow faculty members coming to pay their polite respects. Aunt Elenora was seated right up front in the tiny little church, leaving Beverly to stand off to the side near the back. She stood near a corner in the left, very close to the doors; her strategic location was chosen with the intention of making a quick and hasty retreat should she get overwhelmed.

Beverly _was _getting overwhelmed, but not because of her father. Towards him she felt nothing. She'd always felt like she hardly knew the man. Barriers existed in the form of his mental illness-spurred by her mother's death-and his own naturally cruel disposition. These things hindered her from ever really knowing the real Alvin Marsh. Not that it was any great loss, to be honest.

_I just want this to be over, _she thought, feeling exhausted. Her nerves were on edge because of something else, and though she couldn't pinpoint it, she knew it was nothing a shot and couple of sleeping pills couldn't fix.

Her eyes scanned over the crowd with disinterest until they alighted on a pair already locked onto her own. Deep brown, familiar eyes set beneath black brows in a face that was young and strong and handsome.

_...Mike? _

She was already making her way over towards the young man. He, too, was moving and they tacitly agreed to meet up outside.

Mike reached the door first and held it open for the shorter redhead as she ducked under his arm. They went over to the lot, walked to the right and stopped at a rusty red pickup truck.

Mike didn't say a word but opened his arms and Beverly found her way into them at once. This didn't feel wrong or forced like so many other interactions, the way he held onto her was steadying and felt akin to being wrapped in the arms of a brother, if she ever had one.

_I basically had six, _she thought wryly in her head.

Mike stroked her back and pulled away with a cursory glance. He seemed worried and it struck up a resemblance to the chubbier, baby-faced version of him from the past.

"Beverly," He stated, "I've been meaning to reach out to you." He glanced back at the church and said, "I'm sorry about your dad...for what it's worth."

"Yeah," Beverly replied absently.

Mike crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the passenger side of his truck. Beverly replaced Mike's arms with her own and wrapped them tightly around herself. Only now did she question her decision to wear a dress instead of a pantsuit because the short lace sleeves left her pink-tinged arms vulnerable to a chill. No, the chill wasn't from the cold, there was barely a breeze. Her goosebumps had arisen from a totally different cause.

From her thin-strapped purse she pulled a cigarette and lit it, then brought it up to her frowning red lips.

"How are you holding up?" Mike asked.

Beverly just shrugged and shook her head. "I'm...well...you know."

"When'd you get back?" Mike then asked her.

"A couple days ago," She replied. "I'm here with my aunt."

"Oh yeah, she was nice," Mike recalled with a soft smile.

Beverly observed her old friend and put him at a similar age to her, in his mid-to-late twenties. He looked great for his age, with a cut and defined figure hidden beneath his black dress clothes. The only difference she noticed-besides his increased height and goatee-was that he had a tattoo on his wrist. His shirt sleeves were pushed up on his forearms so she could clearly see a black, tribal-looking insignia inked into his ruddy brown skin.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about," Mike slowly admitted. "I was waiting for a better time, since I heard about your dad, but I don't think this can wait much longer."

With his every word the dread in Beverly was increasing, and the cigarette wasn't working its magic like usual. She was tempted to snuff it out for all its usefulness, but she kept it balanced between two fingers and looked up at Mike fearfully.

"...What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" She nearly whispered.

Mike glanced around the quiet parking lot and then looked back to her. He asked, "You feel like taking a drive down to the farm? This is gonna' take a while."

Beverly nodded and began to step towards his truck. She had a strong feeling, something like deja vu, like she was heading down a familiar road and Mike was leading the way.

* * *

Riding with Mike was like taking a veritable ride down memory lane, especially when he pulled alongside a bent and rusted iron gate. The gate was poorly guarding a dilapidated house, the sight of which caused Beverly to become physically ill the longer she stared at it.

When Mike killed the engine, she flinched and looked over at him with mild panic. She asked, "What are we doing here? I thought we were going to the farm."

"We are," Mike said, and then opened his door. He exited the vehicle and took off his outer black dress shirt, revealing the thick white T-shirt underneath. He tossed his dress shirt onto the driver's seat and shut the door, then came around to her side.

Beverly flinched again when he opened her door and felt her heart start to pound. Mike looked down at her and didn't rush her at all, just stood there and observed her reaction.

He quietly, knowingly asked, "Do you know where we are?"

"Nieboldt." She whispered back. "The well house."

"I need to show you something." Mike said gravely.

Beverly nodded and, though she didn't want to, she took hold of Mike's hand and let him help her down from the truck.

His hand was warm and dry and his grip was firm. By contrast the hand he used to guide her by the small of her back was gentle and light. He reached behind Beverly to shut the passenger door and then ushered his friend past the sharp iron gate.

Up the path they walked in silence, with Beverly's palm growing sweaty within Mike's grasp. She nearly tripped over the unkempt lawn that'd overtaken the sidewalk leading up to the house and Mike was there to steady her when she stumbled.

He looked down at her and asked, "You good?"

She nodded but she really wasn't.

Mike crossed the threshold into the deteriorating house and Beverly took hold of his bare bicep with her free hand. She inched as close as she could to him without stepping on his feet as they prepared to enter the wretched abode.

"Mike..." Beverly didn't want to go in, and a whimper of his name accompanied her hesitation.

Mike again looked down and locked eyes with her in the half-ajar doorway. His gaze was sure and his tone was calm as he promised, "It's okay. We'll be okay."

_What is in that house?!_

Whatever it was had her fight or flight instincts going into overdrive. It was obvious why someone would feel that way, looking at the state of the building. But she wasn't just afraid to enter it because crackheads or serial killers may have been lurking inside, something else had her rooted in place.

"I've got this," Mike's voice drew her eyes and attention down towards his hip, where he was gesturing towards a holstered handgun. "Just in case," He added.

It _did_ make her feel a little bit better about walking into the house. In fact, Mike's general presence did well to ease her fears. He was tall, athletic, and armed. Maybe, just maybe he'd be able to protect them.

_From what?_

She still didn't know.

Broken wood and glass crumbled underfoot as the two individuals took slow steps into the house. It smelled absolutely looked just as bad, and there were cobwebs everywhere.

Good thing the lights don't work, Beverly absently noted. She loathed to think of all the things they couldn't see, on top of what they could. She brought a small hand up to cover her grimacing mouth and held tightly onto Mike's hand.

He seemed to know where they were going because he walked straight over towards one door after the other, then went downstairs towards what looked like a basement-

_CRACK_

Beverly gasped and whipped her head around, looking furtively for the thing that'd made that sound.

"It's nothing," Mike said. "It's an old house, and it's falling to pieces. Probably just nothing." He seemed insistent on getting her down those stairs.

Beverly swallowed.

"Mike," She said. "I can't go down there."

"Bev, it's okay," Mike began but Beverly pulled her hand free and took a step backwards, shaking her head.

She was shaking and her heart was racing and she just couldn't do it. Slender fingers fumbled for a cigarette until she realized she'd left her purse back in the truck. She then ran those fingers through her long red hair; she hadn't bothered to style it for the funeral so it hung in loose curls on either side of her frightened face.

"Bev, come on." Mike insisted. "I have to-"

"No, Mike, I can't!" She said loudly, and only then did she realize... "**IT**...**IT**'s down there, isn't it?"

Mike was silent.

"Oh God, it _is_, isn't it?!" Beverly's face contorted in horror and she bolted out of the house, a far cry from her younger self's bravery.

She ran out of the house as fast as she could and screamed when something grabbed her from behind.

It was Mike.

He'd grabbed onto her shoulders as she was fleeing past the gate but released her as soon as she'd screamed. She still began fighting him and flailing her arms.

"Hey, hey! It's me! It's okay!"

At the sound of his familiar voice-and upon realizing she was out of the house-Beverly calmed down enough to be held gently by her old friend. Mike rubbed her shoulders and let her catch her breath.

Beverly had tears in her eyes as her chest heaved from her rapid breaths. "Mike," She asked, "Why did you bring me here? Why would you-"

"It's not awake," Mike cut in. "It can't hurt us-"

"But it's down there? It's _alive_?" She asked shakily.

Mike nodded and Beverly choked out a sob.

This was all happening fast for her-her memories of **IT** were coming back. She was reliving the horror of its harassment during her childhood years.

"We can go now," He said once Beverly went silent. "I'm sorry I brought you here, but I needed you to remember and..." Mike ran a hand over his face and said again, "We can go now."

"To the farm?" Beverly whispered. She swallowed and tried to slow her sprinting heart. Her eyes were stuck on the blackened doorway of the house, she was staring at the pitch-black space as if the killer clown itself was going to come running out at any second.

"If you still want to come, yeah." Mike looked somber and apologetic.

_Why would he want me to remember the most horrifying element of our childhood?_ Beverly was curious, despite all her fear, so she nodded and moved to get back into the truck. If **IT** was still around after all, she felt a certain safety in numbers.

Plus, she wanted answers.

Beverly climbed back into the truck with Mike's help and buckled herself in. She watched Mike get in and do the same and waited to speak until he began to drive, leaving Nieboldt far behind in the rear-view.

She crossed one stocking-clad leg over the other-an attempt at allaying the nervous jostling it was doing-and asked, "...Is **IT** really..."

"It's sleeping," Mike supplied when she was unable to voice her question. He kept his eyes on the road and drummed his fingers on the wheel. "It's been like that since we last encountered it. Since we beat it." He shot a glance at Beverly to check her reaction.

She was also staring forward blankly and whispered, "We killed it..."

"No, no we _wounded_ it." Mike clarified. "We kicked its ass and sent it to bed hungry, but we didn't exactly kill it. That's why it's coming back. But this time it's gonna come back earlier and angrier than before."

"You know that?" Beverly suddenly looked over at him.

Mike shook his head and admitted, "No, it's just a theory of mine, based on a feeling."

"...A feeling?" Beverly echoed dubiously.

"In all the years I've been alive, I've learned to trust my intuition," Mike explained. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's just how I am. When I get a strong feeling about something, I just gotta' go with it, you know?"

"Yeah," Beverly surprisingly understood. She rubbed her clammy hands on the lap of her black dress and said, "I've actually been having some feelings myself. Since I got back here."

"Oh yeah?" Mike perked. "Like what?"

Beverly shook her head and said, "Just..like these feelings of anxiety, feelings of dread. I guess I know why, now." She remarked the last part wryly.

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "It's this town. It's like...the further you get away from it, the easier it is to forget everything that happened."

"No kidding," Beverly stated.

"But once you come back, the memories come back, too." Mike continued. "And then **IT** has an effect on you again."

They rode in silence for several minutes.

_Doesn't seem like **IT** really stopped having an effect on me,_ Beverly thought while going over some things she'd overlooked.

Like the voice in her head.

She hadn't given it much thought until then but there was a voice she'd hear every now and again, especially once she'd married Tom. It whispered things to her late at night, just before she'd fall asleep. Things like, _See you soon, Bevvie,_ something she thought she'd imagined in her barely-lucid state. But then, other times, it'd speak to her during the day.

Once when Tom was belittling her in the kitchen, the voice had whispered a vicious suggestion; _Why don't you take that knife and slit his throat? Silence him for good?_

She shuddered, just as she'd done that day. At the time she'd thought that suggestion and the comments like it had just come from her own stressed and frustrated mind, but now she could perfectly place that voice with that of the clown.

_How could **IT** talk to me if I wasn't even in Derry?_

Beverly looked up and asked Mike, "You said it's coming back early this time?"

"I think so, yeah."

They were nearing the farm. Mike held off the rest of her questions until after he pulled up to his family's estate, which was nestled deep among the rural farmland. Nothing but trees and rolling green grass surrounded the two-story house for plenty of acres, with a dirt path leading up to the house and few vehicles-one of which was a tractor-parked on the far right side below the porch.

Mike parked near the left side and then escorted Beverly up to the double white doors.

She admired the glossy paint finishing and well-maintained windows and shrubbery surrounding the quaint home. Mike unlocked and opened the doors and waved her inside.

He led her through the walkway beyond the doors to where a large area opened up to the right and the left. Straight ahead were doors leading to the backyard, while on the right was a living room area with a large brick fireplace. On the left was a kitchen and dining room area. Mike went towards the kitchen and gestured for her to take a seat at the table.

"You have a beautiful home, Mike," She remarked as she went to sit at the four-seater wood table.

Mike thanked her and turned on the lights to supplement the waning sunlight coming in from the kitchen window.

"You live here alone?" Beverly asked him.

Mike nodded solemnly and said, "Yeah, ever since my grandfather passed away."

"Oh." Beverly blinked. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"So was I." Mike agreed. "I didn't always see eye to eye with him, but now I definitely miss him."

Beverly allowed a moment of silence to pass in respect for the man she didn't know but who meant a great deal to one of her friends.

"You want a drink?" Mike asked. "I've got a pretty decent selection over here."

"Yeah," Beverly said. "I'll take whatever you're having." She had a feeling she'd need something stiff in preparation for their conversation.

Mike came over with a bottle and two whiskey glasses, and he slid one over to Beverly. Sitting adjacent to where she had her back facing the wall, Mike poured them both a shot.

_Guess I can cross that off the list,_ Beverly noted in her head as she recalled planning to get a drink earlier.

She and Mike drank their shots and then Mike began to fiddle with the rim of his glass.

Beverly sighed and said, "So what now? Do we call the others?"

"In due time," Mike replied. "I wanted to get everything set up first."

"Like what?"

"Weapons, supplies, stuff like that," Mike listed. "I want us to all have our own gear and protection for when we go back down there."

"We're going back in that house?!"

"We're gonna have to," Mike insisted. "How else are we gonna kill it?"

"We 'killed' it before, or we thought we did." Beverly said. "How are we gonna' _actually_ kill it this time?"

"Guns. Poisons. Explosives." Mike replied. "If we destroy its physical form it won't be able to hunt anymore. It'll have to create a new puppet from scratch and start all over."

"But how are we going to destroy it? It's not just going to stand there and let us kill it." She pointed out.

"It'll be asleep." Mike told her. "We'll stage an attack while it's still in hibernation."

"That's...that doesn't sound like a good idea." Beverly doubted. "How hard does it even sleep? What if we go down there and it slaughters us all?"

"It's not gonna' go that way," Mike proclaimed. "With all of us together, it's going to work out."

Beverly felt sick. She felt actually nauseous. Ordinarily she'd assume it was due to alcohol on an empty stomach, but now she understood it was because of her fear; her fear of **IT**, of this plan going awry, of losing her friends.

"When did you want to do this?" Beverly asked.

"No later than maybe 2-3 months from now," Mike responded. "I'm stocking up on supplies from the Hardware store and that old Army Surplus warehouse. It's been taking some time because I've been having to maintain the property since my grandfather passed."

"I can help you out," Beverly volunteered. "The sooner we can get this done, the better, right?"

"Right," Mike agreed with the first slow smile he'd shown since their reunion. "Thanks Bev. Good to have you on board. I didn't know how you'd take all this, but it's good to know you're up for it. It'll make convincing the others that much easier."

"Uh-huh." Beverly looked away.

In truth she was forming a plan of her own, one that didn't involve Mike or Bill or Eddie or any of the other Losers at all.

* * *

**A/N:** If you liked it and want more, let me know in a comment and I'll upload another chapter as quickly as I can!

Ciao!


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